Swan Song
by Spastic Asian
Summary: Swan song, noun, the last public act of a person before death. Chapter one: Ginny's revenge. Harry has a close encounter with a brooms stick. Not for the faint hearted.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and Co., as they are all dead because I killed them

A/N Look, this fanfic is really violent, and I don't know if overviolentness is grounds for removal of my story, so I'll just warn you in case. It's REALLY violent. Actually, only the end is, so I'll write 'violence begins' in the divider thing were the violence starts, and if you want to stop there and believe that everyone lives happily ever after, you can do so.

All the chapters are stories in themselves, they're related in any way (apart from the violence).

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Chapter One: Ginny's Revenge

Harry kicked off the ground firmly, breathing deeply as he zoomed up into the fiery dusk sky. Mundane thoughts of homework and the like slipped away as he flew higher and higher, the stadium just a small circle in a cluster of green. The castle stood to his right, its highest tower a good hundred metres beneath him. Occasionally, miniscule black dots moved across the front lawn, towards the Great Lake, no doubt hormonal teenagers out for a snog in the privacy of the bushes. Harry did slow circuits in the air, hair whipping around him, gripping his broom tightly with icy fingers. As he flew lazily, his mind began to wonder, yet again, if there was any point in carrying on. They were fighting a loosing battle. Surely everyone knew that. How long were they going to keep on deluding themselves that good would prevail, that Harry was going to come up with some miraculous way to defeat Voldemort? Truth to be told, Voldemort's allies greatly outnumbered theirs, and his ranks were growing every day. The Order's members were few, and Fudge was doing more harm than help. Everyone was desperate for a breakthrough, and looked towards the only person that could provide one. Harry. No one paused to consider how he felt, being their salvation, their carrier of misguided hope.

Harry was so fucking tired. Everyday he got up at dawn for hand to hand combat training. In 'preparation' for the final encounter. Then he had another gruelling day of school. Straight after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and on Saturday and Sunday afternoon, he had a punishing session of duelling training with his favourite teacher, Professor Snape, who took every opportunity to tell him how he, their 'saviour' would lose them the war if he didn't keep his toe in line. All the time he didn't spend doing this and essentials like eating was devoted to ploughing through the mountain of homework that Seventh Years received. He had long given up on trying to maintain a friendship with Ron and Hermione. It was virtually impossible – the only time they saw each other was during class (Hermione would scribble frantically and snap every time someone tried to start a conversation, shrieking about exams) and at mealtimes. Their conversations, which were rare, were awkward and strained. Each of them was busy with their individual preoccupations. Ron was Quidditch Captain – a position that Harry desperately wanted, but denied because, according to Dumbledore, he already had 'more obligations than someone twice your age', and Hermione was Head Girl. With all their commitments, they gradually saw less and less of each other, and drifted further and further apart.

Flying was Harry's escape. On Friday afternoons, he didn't have any stupid training, and just couldn't be bothered doing homework. When he was up in the air, he didn't have to think about Voldemort. He didn't have to research the uses of hemlock. He was free from the suffocating atmosphere of the common room, where everyone regarded him with a hushed silence. None of that mattered anymore when he was flying. Flying was the only thing that kept him going. Suddenly, Harry directed the nose of his broom sharply, plunging into a dive. He gained speed quickly, his flapping robes providing barely any resistance as he plummeted towards the ground. His glasses were pushed painfully into the bridge of his nose, and his hair was finally out of his eyes – it was forced back by the wind. Harry felt as if his scalp would tear off. Inches before he was about to plough into the turf, he pulled up quickly and reduced his speed. Breathing heavily, his heart pounding as adrenaline course through his vein, he drifted slowly to his former height to do it all again.

Ginny watched Harry with narrowed eyes. Every time her stomach twisted with worry as he plunged into yet another risky dive, she convinced herself that it was anger she was feeling. She leaned on the glass window of her dormitory. Why wouldn't he notice her? He used to acknowledge her at least, but now…he didn't seem to realise she even existed. Ginny sighed. She had spent her whole life either in love with Harry, or denying that she did. All she wanted now was for him to go away, so she could live out the rest of her life in peace, instead of pining after the unattainable. A loud crack interrupted her musings, but Ginny didn't take her eyes off Harry as he did loop-de-loops on his broom to see who had apparated into her room. A cold hand slipped under her jumper to grip her waist. Ginny stiffed as she recalled Hermione's often quoted fact:"You can't apparate in or out of Hogwarts grounds!" She turned to her right, snake eyes and pale skin confirming what she already knew.

"Voldemort," she breathed. He traced her jaw with a slender finger.

"Such a brave girl, saying my name," he drawled, tipping up her chin so he could look into her hazel eyes. Every secret, every desire, every thought of hers was known to him, as he stared, almost transfixed, into her wide orbs. He smiled widely, revealing a row of short pointy teeth beneath pale lips. This was the girl he wanted. This was the girl that could do it.

Ginny was rooted to the spot. Why aren't I rushing for help，she thought frantically, I'm in the presence of the evilest man in the world! Maybe you don't want to go, a voice in the back of her head said silkily. Maybe you think Voldemort can help you get your revenge. Voldemort's grin widened as he absorbed these thoughts.

"I can help you get what you want," he taunted, dangling his offer in the air.

Ginny hesitated. Just for a second. "How?"

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Humming as she rummaged through her truck, she reviewed the plan yet again, recalling the delicious sensation of his warm breath on her ear with a smile. She had paid meticulous attention to every word that crossed his lips, and what garments she held in her hand fitted the description perfectly. She stripped off her tatty robes, down into her underwear. She pulled ona miniskirt, a floaty pink thing that barely covered her butt, and a skimpy black halter. Her brother would flip if he knew that she owned such things. She threw on a bulky full length coat over the ensemble and grabbed her bag as she flounced out of the room. She was off to find herself a Slytherin Quidditch player.

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Mr. Vincent Crabbe was completely and utterly lost. He looked around in confusion. One wrong turn and he had been separated from Goyle and Malfoy. He quickly glanced around to see if there was anyone that could help. A figure in a long black coat was approaching. Crabbe visibly relaxed. Hurrah! He was saved! As the person neared, Crabbe realised it was a girl. And a pretty girl at that. Before Crabbe had the chance to open his mouth to splurt out a lame pick-up line, she pushed him against the wall and pressed herself on him, her palms flat on the wall either side of his head. Crabbe's breathing quickened as he fumbled for something to say, something to do to this…woman…that was coming on to him faster than a rogue bludger.

"Hello Crabbe," she said huskily.

He made the mistake of looking down at her as she spoke. Immediately, his eyes were drawn futher down to her chest, which was barely held in place by a few pieces of well positioned fabric. He broke out in a nervous sweat, palms sliding down the stone wall.

"Take me to the Slytherin broom shed," she commanded, noting with satisfaction the beads of perspiration on his forehead and the way he kept stealing furtive glances at her ample cleavage. This was going to be easier than she thought.

Crabbe couldn't believe his luck. A hot girl wanted him! His feeble mind didn't even register for a second that she was using him. His brain was no longer in control, the thing in his pants was. They arrived in front of a plain looking door, identical to the others along the dungeon hallway.

"Long live Lord Voldemort," he said gruffly, wanting to get some action quickly.

Ginny slammed the door shut behind her, placed her bag on the floor and took of her coat. She smiled sinisterly, looking at her soon to be puppet. He gulped anxiously, raking her body with his eyes, probably mentally stripping her. He didn't even notice when she pulled out her wand. She mentally reviewed Lord Voldemort's instructions yet again. "Since you have never cast the Imperius spell before, pick a victim with a vulnerable mind. Someone stupid or distracted by something. This way they will not resist the spell as much,"

Ginny looked at Crabbe, who was staring openly at her chest, drool forming at the corner of his mouth. What a dudder head "Imperio!" she cried, hoping it would work. A flash of yellow light exploded out of the end of her wand, hitting Crabbe squarely in the forehead. His eyes acquired a vacant look (more vacant than usual) and he awaited his instructions.

"Get your broom," she commanded, folding her arms across the chest.

He walked to the right side of the room, and took the broom placed on the wall under the title 'Crabbe – Beater,' and walked back to his masters side.

Ginny reached into her bag a pulled out a jumbo pencil sharpener in a flamboyant red colour. Cackling menacingly, she grabbed Crabbe's broom and started sharpening its end with fervour.

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The sun rose the next day, just like it had everyday, shining its light upon the inhabitants of the castle. None knew the significance of this day. None but Ginny. She rubbed her hand together gleefully as she jumped our of bed, looking forward to the Quidditch match. She showered and dressed quickly, impatient to get down to the Quidditch pitch.

She sat down next to her brother at the Gryffindor table and began piling food onto her plate. She needed energy today. The members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team looked at her morosely. They were all very, very nervous.

"Looking forward to pulverising Slytherin?" Ron asked, trying to instil some sort of enthusiasm into the rest of the team. Ginny smiled broadly. She glanced at Harry, who was pushing his eggs around on his plate. "Let the pulverising begin!"

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Madam Hooch blew her whistle, the sharp sound barely audible over the crowd. Harry pushed off the ground, rising over the others to circle the stadium, eyes narrowed, hoping to catch a flash of gold. Five minutes into the game, the cheering rose, telling Harry that Gryffindor had scored. Two minutes later, a loud boo erupted through the stadium. Either Slytherin had scored or Gryffindor had been fouled. None of that mattered to him. His job was to get the snitch. After ten minutes of fruitless searching, Harry became aware that Crabbe was following him particularly closely. He frowned as he saw the head of Crabbes broom. It had been sharpened to a point. Surely that wasn't allowed? Just as he was about to voice his concerns to Madam Hooch, a glint of gold in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He changed direction sharply, heading towards the wall near the Gryffindor goalposts, chasing the elusive snitch.

Ginny grinned as she watched Crabbe set off after Harry. Showtime!

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Harry stretched forward, fingertips inches away from the snitch, unaware that Crabbe was directly behind him. As his fingers started to close around it, the sound of bones being crunched froze him in place. He watched in confusion as the snitch whizzed away. Slowly, he became aware of a sharp pain in his lower back, and the fact that he had no sensation in his lower body. He turned around cautiously, glancing up at Crabbe, whose broomstick was slammed directly into his spine. Harry turned back around, dread draining his flushed face of colour. Protruding from just above his navel was the sharpened tip of Crabbe's broom. Crimson blood dripped from the end of it, and shrapnels of Harry's intestine covered the area around it, the blood red tissue hardly noticeable on the scarlet Quidditch robes. Harry started shaking. "Oh…" he said, as he curved instinctively over the gash. His entire body leaned forward, and as he fell off his broom he caused Crabbe to topple off his too, as his broom stood proudly in Harry's back. Crabbe dropped towards the stadium wall. A bludger zoomed out from nowhere and smashed into the wall. However, Crabbe's head was caught in the middle, and his skull crushed. Bits of skull and brain exploded out onto the nearby spectators, the jagged bone fragments cutting into their skin. The bludger zoomed on, unfazed, bits of grey matter covering its surface. Crabbes headless body slid down the wall, painting the grey surface red.

Ginny was the first to land. Harry was lying face down, arms spread out, a pool of blood surrounding him. Ginny yanked out the broom and flipped him over. His hair was matted to his forehead, skin deathly pale. He coughed a dry hacking cough, and spat blood weakly onto the turf. Eyes closing slowly, he searched for something to say, some memorable last words. Ginny saw that he was about to slip away. "Oh no you don't!" she growled, pulling out her wand with her free hand, the other still holding onto his Firebolt. "I haven't had my fun yet," she said smiling wickedly. Around her various Gryffindors were landing. Ginny barked out a harsh work and a jet of black energy was released from her wand, enveloping Harry's trembling form. His shaking ceased immediately. He was in temporary stasis. He couldn't move. All he could do was watch and feel, trapped between life and death. Ron ran frantically towards Harry's still form, sensing at once that Ginny was doing Dark Magic. Ginny shot another spell out of her wand. Ron was propelled backwards, shock written on his face up to the moment he collided with the hoop, head and legs lopped of by the rim of the circular ring. The rest of the team watched horrified, then started screaming as the earth crackled and buckled beneath them. The ground cracked open as two crab like figures emerged, displacing the turf as they rose out of the bowels of the earth. They were ten metres tall, and at least twice as wide. Their shells were a shiny silvery blue, snapping claws scintillating in the bright sunshine. The crabs' talked red eyes swivelled around, and a poisonous green tongue darted out of one of their mouths. One of the creature grabbed the nearest player, a leg clamped in each of its claws. An unholy wail penetrated the silence that had befallen the spectator and players. The unfortunate beater had been ripped in half. The crab thing made a deep, guttural sound. It look everyone a second to realise it was laughing. Chaos ensued. The crowd stampeded furiously towards the exits, everyone fighting for their own survival. The Gryffindor team was the worst off. They couldn't fly away in time like the Slytherins, who had never gotten of their brooms, and were miles away from an exit. The other crab selected its first victim. It tore the whimpering in half, catching the spilt blood on its tongue. Probing along the jagged edge of the left half of the girls body, the venomous tongue inserted itself in her through where the small intestine used to be. Scooping up the internal organs, the tongue retreated back into the mouth with its bundle of goodies. It chewed happily, long tongue whipping out to catch the blood running out of the sides of its mouth. It then bought the half body up to its mouth, sucking out the blood and muscle. Soon, all was left was a bag of skin and bone, which it discarded with a careless toss. A portion of her small intestine was dangling out of the other half of her body. Green tongue darted out greedily to curl itself around it, bringing it to the crab's mouth. The crab began to suck; devouring the small intestine like you would a strand of spaghetti. Ginny would have loved to have kept on watching, but a white figure in azure robes blazed through the main pitch entrance. Dumbledore.

Ginny snarled. He was the olny person that could possibly stop her. With all her might, she threw Crabbe's broom in his direction, javelin style. Whatever he was expecting her to do, it wasn't this. The broom penetrated his forehead and pinned him to the door he had just came in. Bright red blood spilled out and trickled down his face, travelling along every crevice, every wrinkle. It journeyed further down to his beard, staining his beard a ludicrous red colour. Ginny watched with grim satisfaction as his corpse swung to and fro with the door, the momentum provided by her throw. She turned her attention back to Harry. She grinned coyly, knowing full well that he had witnessed the carnage. Still smiling, she sat on him. With two fingers on her right hand, she dipped into the wound on his abdomen, using the blood as war paint to mark her cheeks. She slowly licked the remaining blood off her fingers, actions reminiscent of the giant crabs'. Now clean fingers reached up to unfasten his robes gently, like a lover would. Her hands caressed his bare torso as she spoke to him.

"You know Harry; I thought I was in love with you for a long time," She used her index nail to etch a heart shape over his real one. The flesh ripped open, but the blood did not appear, as his body was frozen in time. Only his mind was working. "But you know what I realised?" she continued, now cutting a G inside the heart. "It wasn't you I loved. It was your power, and dominance," she had finished writing her name, and surveyed her handiwork with pride. Without warning, she plunged her hand under his ribcage and pulled out his heart. She tossed it casually in her hand, very pleased with her new acquisition. Gently, she kissed his unmoving lips and stalked off, heart in one hand, wand in the other. "Ciao," she called as she left, not even bothering to turn around. With a wave of her hand, the spell was terminated.

And Harry was finally free.

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A/N Wasn't that a lovely, happy ending? Everyone got what they wanted! Feel free to let me know what you thought!


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